The Half King

24

The sunset runes led the caravan northwest that day, but for only half the distance as the day before. When Cerise cast the dice again at twilight, the runes predicted an even shorter distance for the following morning.

“Only five clicks,” she said to the group. She reached out to retrieve the runes, but in the time it took for her to blink, they had vanished. She drew a hopeful breath and looked to Nero. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

Nero nodded, but the flat line of his lips hinted that he didn’t share her excitement. “We should reach the Petros Blade tomorrow—probably by midday, if the trail is solid.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Daerick said. He glanced back and forth between them. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Nero told him. “But…”

“I’ll be tested,” Cerise finished. “And I don’t know how. It must be practically impossible, though. If no one has seen the Petros Blade in a thousand years, that must mean no one has ever passed the test.”

“Not necessarily,” Daerick argued. “I used to think the sunset runes were a myth. I had never seen them, and neither had anyone I’d ever talked to. If I hadn’t come on this journey with you, I would be none the wiser. Just because we haven’t seen the blade doesn’t mean it’s been untouched for all this time. Maybe it’s been granted and then it disappeared afterward, like the runes just did. Any number of people could have won the blade, and we would never know.”

“That’s true,” Kian said. “Besides, anyone smart enough to earn the Petros Blade would be clever enough to hide it. Only a fool would show off something so valuable and easy to steal.”

General Petros grunted while he stoked the fire with a pointed stick. “Laying hands on the most destructive weapon in history isn’t supposed to be easy.” He glanced at Cerise. “But if anyone deserves to win it, it’s you, my girl.”

“I agree,” Kian said. “I have faith in our lady of the temple.”

The tang of energy thickened the air as Father Padron cast his protective enchantment over the camp. Cerise looked to him, expecting to hear his commentary on the subject of faith, but he had no words to offer. He simply turned on his heel and strode to his tent, taking his supper with him. Maybe it was nothing, but she noticed he’d been more quiet than usual since her Claiming Day. And once or twice during the afternoon ride, she’d caught him sneaking a sideways glance at her, almost studying her, as though he had sensed a change in her but couldn’t pinpoint the difference.

His silence made her uneasy. It wasn’t like Father Padron to hold back his opinions, not even the hurtful ones. Especially not the hurtful ones. She would almost prefer to hear his lectures than to wonder what dark thoughts he was hiding from her.

Kian brought her back to present company with a clap of his hands. “Rest well tonight,” he told the group. “We’ll need all of our strength in the morning.”

He gave Cerise a wink as he vanished into the shadows—a silent goodbye and a reminder to study well, since they had decided she would stay behind for one more lesson with Nero.

Cerise repeated her ruse from the night before, pretending to drink arrowroot syrup with her supper and then waiting inside her tent for the rest of the group to fall asleep before she crept out into the darkness to meet Nero on the fringes of camp.

Again, they found a stone slab entrance to the Below, and Nero spent the evening hours teaching her how to cast a defensive shield and how to deliver an offensive blow. Cerise practiced the drills over and over until she learned to protect herself, and when she returned to her tent, it was with a fraction more confidence than before.

The next morning, the group packed up camp and rode northwest for five clicks. Much like their approach to the Blighted Shrine, the path grew steeper and more treacherous as they neared the Petros Blade’s hiding place. The horses began to struggle to keep their footing. Cerise was just about to suggest that they stop and tether the horses when Daerick suddenly jerked upright in his saddle and snapped his gaze to hers.

“I see it,” Daerick told her, his eyes taking on a dreamy quality.

Dread settled in her stomach. She had seen that faraway look on his face before, and she knew what it meant. His curse was leaking through the veil of time, revealing to him the secrets of the universe and destroying his mind in the process.

“What do you see?” she asked him.

“It’s the air here.” Daerick turned his eyes to the space in front of him, fanning out his fingers at a phenomenon visible only to himself. “The particles are slippery. Magic won’t hold.” He laughed in wonder. “I understand how it all works now—how the particles fit together to create the forces of nature. It’s so simple. How did I miss it before?”

Cerise glanced around at the rest of the group. Judging by their heavy expressions, everyone understood what was happening. Even Father Padron put aside his haughtiness long enough to give Daerick a pitying glance.

“Lord Calatris,” Kian called, maneuvering near enough to clap Daerick on the shoulder. “Remind me what your sister is called—the tall, busty one with the brown hair. I named my mare after her, but now I’ve forgotten what to call her when I slap her on the ass.”

The teasing seemed to work. Daerick blinked out of his trance and into a scowl. “You say lower your expectations ,” he retorted, “ because I’m not half the man my mother was .”

“That’s quite a mouthful,” Kian said. “Does she have a nickname?”

Daerick flashed a rude hand gesture. “Is this short enough for you?”

Kian grinned and delivered another pat. “Glad to have you back, my friend.”

Daerick turned his face away, clearly embarrassed by his lapse in sanity. “Enchantments won’t hold here,” he told the group. “So whatever we have to do to get the blade, Father Padron’s magic won’t work.”

That made sense to Cerise, considering the weapon had been hidden to protect it from warmongering kings who might have sent priests to retrieve it. But what she didn’t fully understand was how magic could be absent from any place that contained an enchanted object. There had to be some magic surrounding the blade—otherwise, it wouldn’t be able to move to a new location at each full moon. Perhaps there were multiple kinds of magic in nature, and the energy that protected the blade was different from the energy of priests. She wished she could ask Daerick if he had seen the answer, but she didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Maybe she would ask him later in private.

The group rode in silence for a short while longer, and then they were forced to tether the horses and continue on foot. The higher they climbed, the more Cerise detected a foul scent in the air, an unfamiliar odor that grew stronger and stronger until Blue whined and pawed at his nose. Soon the group crested the next peak and found the cause of the smell.

“Acid,” Nero said, waving a hand in front of his face.

Less than ten paces ahead of them stood a bubbling pool of acid so deep that Cerise couldn’t see the bottom. Rimmed by a circle of mud, the shallows bore a yellow tint that deepened to a greenish hue at the center. Beads hissed and fizzed where they leaped out of the pool and landed on the cracked soil.

She strode to the pool and inched as close as she dared, peering below the liquid’s surface. Something caught her eye—a gleam of sunlight on metal. When she squinted, she could barely make out a double-edged blade with a polished steel hilt. The weapon was smaller than she had imagined, the approximate length of her forearm. It hung suspended within the deep as if gripped in an invisible fist.

“There it is,” she said. “The Petros Blade.”

Kian pulled her back from the edge. “Careful. You’re making me nervous.”

“How do I fish it out?” she asked Nero.

“I doubt that you can,” Nero said. “That would be too easy. If I had to guess, I would say you have to go in and get it.”

“Go in?” Cerise asked. “To a pool of acid?”

Father Padron joined them at the pool’s edge and extended a hand as if to will the blade into his grasp. His energy flared, but nothing happened. He tried again. His power surged like an electrical storm. And then from the depths below, the acid bubbled. He smiled in victory, but as he flattened his palm to accept his prize, acid splashed the front of his robes, instantly dissolving the gilded fabric. He staggered back, ripping away the tatters to protect his flesh.

“Magic won’t work here,” Daerick reminded him.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Calatris,” Father Padron snapped. “I can see that now.”

“So what do we do?” General Petros asked.

Nero pointed at Cerise. “You’re the one who seeks the blade, so you’re the one who has to be tested. I think you should start by making an offering.”

“What kind of an offering?” she asked.

Nero shrugged. “Blood, maybe?”

“A blood ritual is sorcery,” Father Padron warned.

“But I have nothing else to give,” she said.

Kian handed her a small knife. “Try a lock of hair.”

She pulled a section of hair from her twist and cut it before tossing it into the acid pool. Several moments passed. Nothing happened.

Father Padron cast a glance at Blue and then arched an eyebrow at Cerise, silently reminding her that she did have something else to offer.

“No,” she told him. If the goddess wanted Blue, then Shiera would have to come down from the heavens and physically remove him from Cerise’s arms.

“Very well,” Father Padron said. “Then offer your blood, if that is your wish. But any consequences that arise will be yours to suffer.”

Cerise held her breath, silently praying that the fire in her blood would remain invisible as she nicked the pad of her fourth finger with the knife. She extended her hand above the acid. A single red droplet hit the surface.

The group approached from behind to watch.

Like brandy to boiling wine, her blood caused the surrounding acid to froth. She drew back to keep a safe distance until the bubbling ceased, and then she leaned in again to see if anything had changed. Now cutting through the yellow-tinged acid was a path of pure, clean water, and below it, a stone staircase leading down to the blade.

“It looks like your offering was accepted,” Nero said.

Kian squinted at the pool. “How can you tell?”

“Because there’s a staircase.” Cerise traded places with him and pointed. “See?”

“All I see is liquid death.”

“Me, too,” Daerick added.

General Petros and Father Padron shook their heads. They didn’t see the stairs, either. Then a male voice rose from the water. Low and clear, it commanded, “Two must enter.”

“Two?” Nero repeated, sharing a glance with Cerise while the rest of the group stared at the pool as though nothing had happened. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“Hear what?” Kian asked.

Cerise told him what he and the others had missed. “I think the voice was talking to Nero and me. We’re the only ones who heard it, and no one else can see the staircase. The voice wants us to go inside.”

“But why?” Nero asked, shaking his head. “I didn’t come here seeking the blade. I didn’t make an offering. Why would I be called to enter?”

Kian studied Nero through narrowed eyes. “Maybe the blade knows something about you that the rest of us don’t.”

Nero tensed as if to take a backward step, but he seemed to think better of it. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Then you should have no reason to worry,” Kian told him.

Cerise rested a hand on Kian’s shoulder to calm him. “Let’s remember that Nero risked his life to guide us here.”

“He certainly did,” Kian said. “At the cost of two satchels of coin from my private treasury.” He jutted his chin at Nero. “Now it’s time to earn your pay. Go with her, but you enter first. And make sure nothing happens to her while you’re down there. If you come out and she doesn’t, I’ll leave you on this mountain in pieces too small for the insects to notice.”

The color drained from Nero’s face, but he didn’t argue.

Cerise strode ahead of Nero to the watery edge of the pool, where she knelt and poked a testing fingertip through the surface. She felt nothing, not even a hint of moisture. She tried again, this time scooping a hand through the liquid, but it was no more tangible than air. She swung her legs around and tapped the top step with her sandal to make sure the staircase was solid. When her foot met the resistance of stone, she stood up.

“He goes first,” Kian reminded her.

Nero brushed past her and descended the steps until his head was submerged beneath the water—or, rather, the illusion of it, because no part of him was wet.

Cerise told Blue to stay, and then she glanced once more at Kian. Their gazes caught and held, an entire conversation passing between them. His eyes urged her to be safe and come back to him. She nodded a silent promise to do her best, and then she followed Nero into the pool.